Jumper
by Xris Robbins
Summary: Duncan asks Methos to step back from that ledge. (Slashy)


  
Disclaimers: When hell freezes over, a lot of funky shit will   
happen, like me being able to claim ownership of the guys.  
  
Special (extra special) thanks to Alex, the best beta reader this   
world has ever known. I love you, man, you make my writing   
worthwhile.  
  
Dedicated to all the Jumpers.  
  
Chronology: What's that??? Geez. . . sometime after CaH and   
Rev6:8  
  
  
---  
Jumper   
By Christy Xris Robbins   
---  
  
"Methos."   
  
The old man turned. Duncan stood a few feet away, watching him.   
  
"What do you want, MacLeod?" he demanded harshly. The tone   
didn't faze the Scotsman, who stepped closer.   
  
"What are you doing?" Methos glanced over the ledge of the   
building, into the large Dumpster dozens of feet below. He turned   
back to MacLeod.   
  
"Jumping." Duncan paled visibly.   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Because I'm sick of it."   
  
"The Game?"   
  
"Life," Methos replied, "of living. The Game. Losing people I care   
about. Having nasty parts of my past popping up at inopportune   
times and destroying what little happiness I've found." Seeing the   
reference to the Horsemen for what it was, Duncan sighed.   
  
"Is that how you see Bordeaux and what happened?" he asked.   
Methos turned to regard him in disbelief. Keeping his eyes trained   
on Mac's, the ancient frowned.   
  
"Why are you here, Mac?" he finally demanded. "What could   
possibly have tempted you to associate yourself with Death?"   
MacLeod would have left then, if the look of raw anguish in   
Methos' eyes had not held him in his place.   
  
"Don't start, Methos?"   
  
"Start what, MacLeod?" Methos demanded. "The Horsemen   
episode? I *finished* that. That's what you don't seem to   
understand." He turned back to the ledge, looking down. They   
had deposited a large piece of plate glass there earlier that   
morning. There was a fairly good chance that, if he jumped right   
now, he would die permanently.   
  
Why?   
  
Why, after five thousand years of living, was he going to let his   
entire life go to waste? Why was he going to forsake fifty centuries   
of life without even a fight?   
  
Because of two words.   
  
---We're through---   
  
He glanced back at MacLeod, who had come a few steps closer.   
Inside, he was vaguely aware that this irrationality was the direct   
result of the mass amounts of alcohol he had consumed at Joe's,   
but he could care less about that. He just wanted it over with so he   
would no longer have to stare into MacLeod's huge, doe eyes and   
wish that the owner could be his.   
  
That was beginning to piss him off.   
  
"You never answered my question, Duncan." The word, at any   
other time, would have been a name. Between them now, it was a   
weapon. "Why are you here?"   
  
"Because you are," Duncan finally replied. "Because you're about   
to destroy yourself for nothing."   
  
"Nothing?" Methos spat. "Nothing? Do you know what I've lived   
through Mac?" No. He would not start.   
  
"Tell me," the Highlander said.   
  
"Get the hell out of here, MacLeod," Methos snapped. "Even   
better, go find Cassandra, at least then I'll be guaranteed a death   
instead of relying on a piece of glass to do the job for me." He   
hardly saw the Scot crossing the roof, he moved so fast. He did   
feel the hand wrap around his cloak, though, and haul him   
backward, throwing him to the ground. MacLeod drew his   
katana, slicing through the air with it, the blade coming in contact   
with Methos' neck. Methos lay totally still, staring at the blade   
with a mix of fear and surprise.   
  
"Is this what you want?" MacLeod growled. Methos shifted his   
gaze to MacLeod's eyes.   
  
"Yes," he said.   
  
"Why?" Duncan demanded. Methos pursed his lips. "Dammit,   
Methos, tell me!"   
  
"Because you want me to!" Methos screamed. All the blood froze   
in Mac's veins. "Because deep down in that chivalrous, heroic   
heart of yours you're wishing that I had died in Bordeaux so you   
didn't have to dirty your hands with my acquaintance." Duncan   
stumbled backwards, his sword going wide. He stared at Methos in   
shock.   
  
"How can you say that?" he demanded.   
  
"I can say it because it's true," Methos said. He stood and craned   
his neck. "Are you going to finish the job or not?" MacLeod   
stared at him in horror.   
  
"I don't want you dead, Methos," he finally protested. "You're my   
friend."   
  
"I thought we were through," the older immortal snapped. Duncan   
blanched.   
  
"I don't want you dead, Methos," he stated. "I thought I'd made   
that clear when I told Cassandra not to take your head."   
  
"So what? You've ruined my place in the Watchers, blackballed me   
from all your friends, destroyed any chance I had of being happy   
and now you want me to just turn over and be thankful for the fact   
that you saved my now-meaningless life?" Methos was getting   
angry. "What's the point, Highlander? What do I have to live for."   
  
"What did you live for before you met me?" Duncan demanded.   
  
"To see how society has changed and compare it to my own past,"   
Methos said. "But you've destroyed my past, Mac. Killed it with   
that blasted katana." The blade felt heavier in Mac's hand. "And I   
lived because I was afraid to die. But death has suddenly become a   
whole lot more appealing."   
  
"Why?" Mac asked, breathless.   
  
"Because I'd rather be dead than have you hate me." The   
admission surprised them both. "Because once Duncan MacLeod   
of the Clan MacLeod brings you into his Clan and shows you love   
and warmth, you would rather die than be cast out in the cold   
again." Duncan stared at him.   
  
"Methos..." he began. "I don't want you to die. I'll leave, if that's   
what you want. Get out of your life forever."   
  
"You're not *listening* MacLeod!" Methos shouted. "I don't want   
to live without you!" He stared at the Highlander. "And that's why   
I'm here."   
  
"You're killing yourself because you can't live without me?"   
MacLeod asked, unsure if he had just heard what he thought.   
Methos caught his eyes and nodded once, slowly.   
  
MacLeod stared at him, confused, scared. Was Methos admitting   
love? He stared at his friend's eyes. There was so much pain,   
there, so much hurt. But beneath was the look he had seen in the   
eyes of Tessa a million times before she had died.   
  
Methos loved him. Methos. Loved. Him.   
  
"Methos..." he began.   
  
"Don't say anything, Highlander," Methos whispered. "Just do me   
this one favour and finish the job."   
  
"Why?" Duncan demanded. "Why can't you live without me?"   
Methos shook his head. "Tell me."   
  
"Jesus, Mac..." Methos began. "Can't you just let it go?"   
  
"No!" Duncan stated. "Let me rephrase. Why can't you live?"   
  
"Because there are a million skeletons in my closet, Mac," Methos   
said, warily. "And though not all of them are as violent as the   
Horsemen, some are just as dangerous." MacLeod stared at them.   
  
"So why can't you just put it behind you?" he asked.   
  
"Oh, I can," Methos assured him. "I have. But you can't. It's   
against your nature to forgive me for being what I was. To you I   
committed the ultimate evil three thousand years back, when I took   
up with Kronos. You will never forgive me, Highlander, and you   
will never forget it."   
  
"Methos, I-"   
  
"Stop talking, MacLeod!" Methos shouted. "I want to die. Now.   
So either kill me or leave so I can end it."   
  
"I don't want your head, Methos," MacLeod stated.   
  
"Don't want to be sullied with my Quickening? Think the Dark   
MacLeod will take over? I shouldn't be surprised you don't want   
him out again. He had more balls than you ever will." Mac crossed   
to him and Methos braced himself, closing his eyes. This was it.   
He had pissed MacLeod off just enough. Maybe now he would   
finally be able to get some rest.   
  
The katana dropped to the ground beside him.   
  
His eyes flew open as MacLeod dropped to the ground beside him,   
wrapping Methos in his arms.   
  
"I'm sorry, Methos," he whispered. "I didn't mean to drive you to   
this." Methos swallowed the lump in his throat, though he felt his   
eyes become slightly wet.   
  
"Mac..." Methos said, trying to convey an amount of support.   
"Don't..."   
  
"You've always been a true friend, Methos," MacLeod stated. "I   
just forgot that."   
  
"It's not your fault, MacLeod," Methos said softly. "A lot of   
people would have acted the same way in your position."   
  
"I should have been more objective."   
  
"No, Mac. I wanted you to do what you did. I wanted you to cast   
me out." Methos touched Mac's face, drawing it to his own. He   
looked Duncan in the eye. "I wanted you to be safe. I thought that   
by driving you away from me and the Horsemen you would be."   
He chuckled. "Damn Scottish pride, you just had to come after   
us." Duncan shook his head, though he was smiling.   
  
"Why?" he asked. "Why send me away?"   
  
"So that Kronos couldn't hurt you," Methos answered. "I know   
that you managed to defeat him, but I couldn't take the chance that   
you wouldn't." Duncan sighed.   
  
"And why didn't you just tell me?" he questioned.   
  
"Because you might have come to help," Methos told him. "And   
Kronos had a bad habit of destroying everything and everyone I   
love." He got a faraway look in his eyes. "He was unhappy with   
me for leaving the Horsemen. When he first found me, he..."   
Methos trailed off, and MacLeod noted his shudder. Duncan could   
only speculate as to what his friend had gone through when he had   
forsaken him.   
  
"Forgive me, please," he whispered. Methos met his eyes. Caught   
them. Held them within his own. Methos weighed the thoughts in   
his mind. He saw MacLeod before him, recognized the sorrow in   
his friend's gaze. Was that why he had come, to manipulate   
Duncan into offering his apology for the events that had transpired   
not a month ago?   
  
"Can you accept what I was, MacLeod?" Methos asked. "Can you   
live with the fact that I butchered right alongside Kronos and   
offered no mercy where I went? Can you live with the blood that   
is on my hands."   
  
"I can live with it," MacLeod finally replied.   
  
"But not accept it?" Methos ventured.   
  
"I accept that you changed. That you're no longer that person. That   
you're no longer Death," Duncan told him. Methos rolled the   
words over in his mind.   
  
"All right," he said slowly. "And when I screw up again?"   
  
"We'll cross the bridge when we come to it," MacLeod promised.   
  
"We'll come to it," Methos whispered. "I swear we will."   
  
"Then we'll cross it together," Mac said. Methos stared at him.   
How was it that this one man could decide whether he wanted to   
live of die? When had he lost all his spine and turned his life over   
to such an infant?   
  
When he had fallen in love.   
  
Shaking the thought from his head - as if MacLeod could ever love   
him - he closed his eyes.   
  
"Let's go," he muttered. "I need a drink."   
  
"I think you've had too much to drink, old man," Mac stated.   
Methos chuckled. Perhaps the child was right. Perhaps he'd had   
enough.   
  
The decision was made subconsciously. He was dropped off at his   
apartment that night and MacLeod drove away, unsuspecting. The   
only thing left of his former identity of Adam Pierson the next   
morning was two notes: one for Duncan, one for Joe. He needed   
this, a breath of fresh air. To get away from the web he'd trapped   
himself in when Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod had   
entered his life.   
  
Would he ever return?   
  
The thought rolled around inside his head a moment as the on-  
flight movie started. Yes, perhaps he would. Not soon though. If   
he was needed, Joe knew how to find him, if not where.   
  
Only Joe.   
  
He would not risk that spoiled, delusional, naive, chivalrous,   
gorgeous Highland child chasing him halfway around the world...   
  
Because if he did, Methos' heart, soul and life would be his.   
  
And that was a risk the five thousand-year-old immortal was not   
yet ready to take.   
  
~Finis   
  
  
Jumper   
Third Eye Blind   
  
I wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend   
You could cut ties with all the lies   
That you've been living in   
And if you do not want to see me again   
  
I would understand   
I would understand   
  
The angry boy, a bit too insane   
Icing over a secret pain   
You know you don't belong   
You're the first to fight   
You're way too loud   
You're the flash of light   
On a burial shroud   
I know something's wrong   
Well everyone I know has got a reason   
To say   
Put the past away   
  
I wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend   
You could cut ties with all the lies   
That you've been living in   
And if you do not want to see me again   
  
I would understand   
I would understand   
  
Well, he's on the table   
And he's gone to code   
And I do not think anyone knows   
What they are doing here   
And your friends have left   
You've been dismissed   
I never thought it would come to this   
And I   
I want you to know   
Everyone's got to face down the demons   
Maybe today   
We can put the past away   
I wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend   
You could cut ties with all the lies   
That you've been living in   
And if you do not want to see me again   
  
I would understand   
I would understand   
I would understand   
  
Can you put the past away   
I wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend   
  
I would understand   
  
  



End file.
